


Casper the Extremely Friendly Ghost

by wingedcatninja



Series: SPN Dean Bingo 2019 [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon language, Case Fic, Dean meets a very frisky ghost, F/M, Original Female Character - Freeform, SPN Dean Bingo 2019, Salt 'n' Burn, canon violence, dub-con, non-graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22941013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedcatninja/pseuds/wingedcatninja
Summary: It was supposed to be just a simple salt ‘n’ burn, but it’s never that simple.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Ghost
Series: SPN Dean Bingo 2019 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1387618
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Casper the Extremely Friendly Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> For SPN Dean Bingo. Also for @myinconnelly1 Myin’s 26th Birthday Bash. Featuring an OC who is brutally honest and can’t lie to save their life. I tried to do the prompt justice. Either way, I apologize for nothing.
> 
> Square Filled: Salt ‘n’ Burn

Dean shrugged before pulling the door to the local police station open and entering. It was as if he shrugged into the fake FBI persona he put on for the case. The place was quiet, as expected for a town this size. The lone officer on duty was talking to a woman at the front desk, so Dean hung back and waited for them to finish. With the place so quiet, he could not help overhearing their conversation.

“If I could just look at the file for a minute, it would be a huge help, officer.”

“Ms. Blair, I told you, I can’t share information about an ongoing case with a civilian. That would be you. Now, please stop asking.” The officer sounded as if he had explained the same thing repeatedly already.

“Lives are at stake here, you do realize that?” The woman speaking to the cop was turned away from Dean so all he could see was a mass of brown hair cascading down her broad back, and curvy hips that filled out the jeans she was wearing quite nicely.

“So you claim, Ms. Blair,” the officer replied, turning to glance at the monitor next to him. “From this ‘ghost’ that you say is responsible for the recent deaths.”

The woman threw her hands up in exasperation and spun around, presumably to leave. She bounced off of Dean’s solid frame and only his grabbing her arm prevented her from ending up on her ass on the floor.

“Are you ok?” He let go as soon as he could tell she was in no more danger of falling.

“I’m fine. Sorry about that, I should have paid better attention to where I was going, I’m just a little worked up right now,” she rattled off while looking down to check herself.

“No harm done,” Dean assured her, a small smile playing on his lips at her demeanor. Also, she was quite beautiful. Dean took the opportunity while she was distracted to check her out.

Her hair was held off her face with a muted yellow headband that matched the shirt he could see where her jacket was unbuttoned. The jacket was brown canvas, he noticed. He also noticed how well she filled out that yellow shirt. Dean’s eyes reached her face just when she looked up and their eyes met. Hers were a deep chocolate that made Dean think of brownies. Their soft color was a perfect match to her plump lips and what might have been a button nose if not for the fact that it had been broken at least once. That slight imperfection only added character to her face.

“Oh wow, you’re pretty.” The words seemed to be more a thought spoken out loud.

“Thanks?” Dean smirked. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“What? Oh! Dammit, I did it again. I’m so sorry. I’ve never been able to keep my thoughts to myself.” She paused and peered up at him. “I’m just, uh, gonna go…” And she took off. 

Dean turned to watch her leave, then had to mentally kick himself to get back into character. 

At lunchtime, Dean, still in his FBI suit, entered the local diner and looked around for a table. The place was fairly busy so when he spotted the woman from the police station alone in a booth he beelined for her.

“Hello again.” He gave her his best smile. “Mind if I join you?”

“Hi. Uh, I guess-” Before she had finished her sentence, Dean was already sliding onto the bench across from her.

“I’m Dean.” He nodded, the smile still on his face. 

“Allaidh,” she replied, pronouncing it like ‘Alley’. 

“I think we might be looking for the same thing.” From what he had overheard earlier, he figured they must be working the same case. After all, in a town of fewer than 10 000 residents, how many ghosts could there be. 

“Really? You’re a ghost hunter?” She sounded skeptical and Dean could hardly blame her.

“Ghosts, vampires, werewolves, demons. I’m an equal opportunity hunter,” he smirked at her, keeping his voice low.

She studied him in silence for a few moments.

“Then I guess you had about as much luck with the cops as I did,” she said, shrugging.

“Hardly. FBI trumps local cops,” Dean pulled out his fake badge and flashed it at her.

She goggled at the badge and shook her head.

“I could never pull off the FBI cover. The most I’ve been able to stretch is a reporter for a fringe tabloid when I was after a werewolf,” she admitted.

Dean looked around checking if anyone had heard her. No one seemed to react so he turned back to the conversation.

“Maybe try not to tell the whole town why we’re here, hm?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

She did have the courtesy to blush at her faux pas and lowered her voice.

“Sorry. I hardly ever run into other hunters and basically never talk about work in a public place like this,” she said by way of apology.

“It's ok,” Dean nodded. “I figured since you were here first, we could work together on this one. It seems like a simple salt ‘n’ burn, and you look like you can handle yourself.”

“Yeah, ok. It would be nice to have backup, not that it’ll probably be needed, but still,” she agreed.

The waitress arrived just then to take Dean’s order and they fell silent until she had left. For the next hour, Dean shared what he had learned from the police report, and they compared notes on the lore of this particular ghost.

Sarah Miller, died in 1923 at the age of 18, killed in her bedroom. This was where opinions differed. Some said she had been killed by her married lover to prevent her from coming clean to his wife. Others said it was her father who had done the deed after he found out she was no longer a virgin. Dean did not so much care about the why, as long as they had the right person’s bones to burn. He did spend an enjoyable half-hour debating the point with Allaidh though, just for the pleasure of listening to her voice, and seeing her so passionate about something. She believed that it was the father who had killed his daughter.

After lunch, Dean followed her back to her motel, which turned out to be the same one he was staying at, so she could park her car. Dean drove the two of them to the town cemetery where they looked up the grave of Sarah Miller. 

“This was quicker than I anticipated,” Allaidh remarked.

“Yeah, well, it’s faster when you get a map from the county clerk’s office,” Dean said drily.

Allaidh blushed, having confessed she had never thought to try that since she could never think of a good reason for needing the information. She normally just wandered the cemeteries until she found the correct grave by the process of elimination.

Dean placed the bouquet of snowy white carnations on the grave, a marker for them to look for in the dark, and they headed back to the parking lot.

“So, Allaidh, I’m assuming you already checked out the house?” Dean said while they were getting into the car.

“I mean, yeah, I drove by to make sure it was the right house,” she replied.

Dean stopped with the key half-way to the ignition and looked at her.

“You ‘drove by’?” He repeated evenly.

“Uh...yeah?” She looked at him with apparent confusion.

“It didn’t occur to you that there might be more information inside the house?” Dean asked in an even tone.

“Not really. I mean, what other information do I need?” She seemed genuinely perplexed.

Dean sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Shaking his head, he put the key in and turned it, the car’s engine roaring to life.

“We’re going by the house. I need to check it out,” he declared, pulling up to the parking lot exit. “Which way?”

Allaidh directed him through town to the house, which was on the outskirts, and soon enough he was parking the Impala in front of it. 

Scaffolding covered the whole front of the house and appeared to continue around the side. The current remodeling was what had disturbed the spirit, Dean already knew. The crew had refused to continue work after two of them had died under mysterious circumstances in what had once been Sarah’s bedroom. That news story was what had drawn his attention in the first place.

It was already late afternoon but the day was clear and sunny, which meant there would be enough natural daylight coming in through the windows to allow for an easy enough search.

Dean went around the house, finding the back door off of the backyard. He held the plastic sheeting aside for Allaidh, then pulled out his lockpicks and went to work. When he glanced up, she was looking through a window, holding her hand up for shade.

“Anything?” Dean asked, most of his focus still on the lock. 

“It’s empty. But they’re doing a complete remodel so I wouldn’t expect them to leave any furniture in the house,” she replied, coming back over to stand next to him.

The lock finally clicked and Dean pushed the door open, letting her enter ahead of him while he put the lockpicks away. 

Compared to the bright light outside, the house seemed dark until their eyes adjusted. The plastic sheeting hanging off the scaffolding outside was translucent, so enough light penetrated to make flashlights unnecessary. Allaidh had already wandered through the kitchen, which the back door opened into, and out into a hallway that ran the width of the house. Dean could see the front door at the other end. About halfway was a stairwell with stairs leading down to the basement and up to the next floor. 

Dean left Allaidh to explore the ground floor while he went down to check out the basement. It was completely empty apart from the furnace, which was cold. In the beam of his flashlight, he saw only dust. The basement did not even extend the full length of the house but was only a single room that held the furnace and might do for storage. 

Back on the ground floor, Dean put the flashlight away and found Allaidh in the living room. 

“Anything up here?” He looked around even as he asked, taking in the crown molding and the marble fireplace.

“Not sure what you expected, but all I found were some paint cans in the dining room,” she shrugged.

“Ok, let’s head upstairs. I wanna see this bedroom,” Dean said, heading back to the stairwell.

She followed him up the stairs, which creaked so badly she was actually afraid they might collapse under their combined weight. The hallway at the top was a bit darker than the downstairs, having only a single window at one end to provide light. There was still enough to make out five doors, two on either side of the hallway and one at the end opposite the window. 

“According to the floorplan, that’s the master bedroom,” Dean nodded to the door at the end of the hallway.

“That means one of these two should be Sarah’s bedroom,” Allaidh said, indicating the two doors on either side of the hallway farthest from the master bedroom.

She waited, a little bit impatiently, while Dean went to open each of the doors at the other end, just to check. 

“Paranoid much?” She asked drily when he returned.

Dean shrugged and checked the door on the left. It was a bathroom, judging by the tiled floor and walls, and the fixtures where the toilet and sink would go. It was as bare as the other rooms. 

She was already through the door into the bedroom when Dean closed the bathroom door and he frowned briefly. 

Standing in the open doorway, Dean took in the room. It was the only room in the house that was not completely empty. A gauzy curtain still hung in front of the window. A couple of pieces of furniture, maybe a dresser and a desk or vanity Dean thought, were covered by sheets. And below the window was the bed, a sturdy solid wood four-poster. Dean almost expected it to be made up, but there was only a bare, slightly stained, mattress. 

When he came around the bed he saw the remains of the blood pool where they had found the second victim. The first one had been found hanging halfway out the window nearly chopped in half. Checking behind the headboard, Dean saw the remaining stain on the wall from that one.

“Ok, you’ve seen it. Now what?” Allaidh asked, her tone conveying just how pointless she found the whole visit.

Dean checked his watch. 

“It’ll be dark in an hour. I saw a hatch to the attic by the master suite. I wanna check that out. And then we’ll see.” He shrugged and headed back out of the room.

By the time she caught up to him, he had already pulled down the ladder to the attic and it looked like a gaping black hole in the ceiling. 

“Yeah, ok, you go have a look up there, I’ll wait down here,” she said.

“Afraid of the dark?” Dean teased with a smirk.

“No, of the things that live in the dark,” she shot back, “like rats and spiders and other disgusting critters.”

Dean shrugged and chuckled, heading up the ladder. He used one hand to steady himself while pulling out his flashlight with the other. 

It was not completely dark up there, a small round window at either end of the space letting in the light of dusk. Dean had honestly expected the attic to be as empty as the rest of the house, but there was something tucked into a far corner. The attic spanned the entire area beneath the roof, with Dean only able to stand upright in the very middle. Hunched over, he reached the something and shone his light on it.

It was a wooden box that reminded him of the one Sam kept his treasures in, that Dean was not supposed to know about. There was no lock on it, but it was too dark up there to go through it, so Dean grabbed it and headed back to the ladder.

By the time he was preparing to head down, the air had cooled considerably around him. Dean put the flashlight in his pocket and tucked the box under his arm. The small hairs at the back of his neck were standing on end. He knew what was coming. He hurried down the ladder as quickly as humanly possible without falling and breaking his neck. When Allaidh looked like she was about to speak, he held his hand up to stop her. 

“What’s that?” She was focused on the box and missed his sign to be quiet. 

Dean was starting to get that this was a woman who sometimes had a difficult time knowing when to shut up. He put a finger across his lips and frowned at her, then hurried to the only place with furniture, Sarah’s room.

When he set the box down on the bed, he could see his breath. He watched Allaidh pull her jacket tighter around her when she came in after him. For a wonder, she was quiet. Dean scanned the room while he flipped the lid of the box open by touch. The window panes started to cover with ice crystals. There was a distinct smell of ozone in the air now. 

“Allaidh, look inside the box,” Dean said, still scanning the room continually.

In his peripheral vision, he saw her move, just when the air shimmered in the corner farthest from the door. There was a flicker and then the pale image of Sarah Miller was there.

Dean heard Allaidh’s sharp intake of breath when she noticed the spirit. The young woman had been rather lovely when she died. Even the pale, washed-out shadow of her still retained some of her beauty. Long hair pulled into a loose braid that hung over her shoulder. Full lips, large eyes, and a slim nose made for striking facial features. He could not make out what color her eyes had been, but judging by the dark color of her hair he guessed brown. 

It took him only a moment to make his assessment. He had left the shotgun in the car, but he did have an iron spike in his pocket, which he pulled out and fisted. With his other hand, he motioned for Allaidh to continue her exploration of the box.

“Uh, yeah, ok. There’s, uh, a handkerchief, S.M. embroidered on it. And, uh, an old photo, black and white, except it’s kinda yellowish now.” There was a brief pause. “Looks like it’s Sarah and some guy.”

There was a slight rustling sound when she pulled something else out of the box.

“A-a locket.” The slight snap of the locket opening. “There-there’s a picture of the same guy inside the-the locket.”

More rustling.

“Letters. A whole pile of letters addressed to Sarah,” Allaidh said, her voice shaking a little.

The whole time, the ghost of Sarah Miller stood in the corner, watching silently. As Allaidh pulled items out of the box, Dean realized the ghost was watching him. To test his theory, he slid a couple of careful steps away from the bed, and Allaidh. The ghost’s eyes followed him. 

“Allaidh,” Dean said, interrupting her mid-sentence, “take the box and slowly walk out of the room.”

“Uh, are you sure?” He could hear her hesitation.

“Yes. Just do it, please,” he said, trying to put as much conviction into his words as he could.

Without saying anything else, she returned the items to the box - he could hear the rustling - closed it, and took it with her when she moved slowly toward the door. When the sound of her steps put her firmly outside the room, Dean took a step backward. 

Immediately, the image of the spirit flickered and then she was directly in front of him. For a moment, Dean thought he had made a terrible mistake. In his mind, he saw Allaidh eviscerated, bleeding out, all because he miscalculated. Then he was thrown across the room, landing on the bed, the iron spike falling out of his hand and ending up on the floor, too far away for him to reach.

Distantly, he heard Allaidh’s footsteps on the stairs, the creaking of the old wood, the door slamming. He was frozen to the bone, the spirit right on top of him, cold fingers gripping his wrists. 

“Look, you’re a lovely young woman, but you’re not really my type,” Dean tried to deflect. “I usually like my women a little less...dead.”

The air seemed to crackle with electricity. Each breath felt like inhaling liquid nitrogen. The spirit let go of his wrists, yet he still could not move an inch. Silently, he cursed the ghost powers, remembering the time when he had learned some of their tricks. Too bad he had neglected to learn how to counter them. 

The sudden rip when she tore his t-shirt made him flinch. Her ice-cold fingers on his chest made him groan with pain. Then they were at his pants, the clatter of the button flying off through the room startling in the otherwise silent house. 

“Listen, lady, I’m flattered, but I’m not really in the mood,” Dean managed through teeth clenched tight to keep them from chattering in the cold.

The spirit smirked at him, her cold cold fingers dragging along his length. He twitched with interest, against his own will. He was only human after all. The ghost settled down straddling his hips.

* * *

Allaidh threw the box into the back seat of the Impala and slid into the driver’s seat. Dean had managed to hand her the keys before she slipped out of there, and she fumbled with them, almost dropping them on the floor. 

“Come ON, Allaidh! Get it together! You’re acting like this is your first ghost,” she chided herself.

Finally, she got the key in and turned it, the engine turning over. It took her a moment of complete concentration to get acquainted with the car and she had a couple of false starts before she managed to pull away from the curb and head in the direction of the cemetery. She drove as fast as she dared, which was not all that fast because she had never driven a freaking tank before.

It took her longer than she liked to get there, and she blessed Dean for showing her where his stash was in the trunk when they were at the cemetery earlier. She pulled open the duffel and stuffed it with the collapsible shovel, the big box of salt and the small can of gasoline, then almost ran down the paths to the grave they had marked earlier.

Luckily, the grave was in an older part of the cemetery, which meant there would hopefully be no one around to see her. It was after dark, but some people are weird and like to visit their dearly departed at night. She had learned this through experience. However, she had no choice.

Digging a six-foot hole in the ground is no easy task, especially for one person alone. She put her back into it and dug as quickly as she could. The whole time she feared that she would be too late, that Dean would be dead by the time she managed to finally burn the bitch’s bones.

After what felt like an eternity, the shovel finally bumped against something solid. Drawing on reserves she had no idea were there, Allaidh got the coffin uncovered and levered the top open. She almost lit the bones on fire from inside the hole but at the last minute realized that that would likely burn her as well. 

Using the coffin as a step, she hauled herself out, then covered the bones with salt and gasoline before striking a whole book of matches and throwing them down into the grave. The flames flashed into being with a satisfying whoosh.

Allaidh scrambled for her phone and called Dean, holding her breath and praying that she had been on time.

Just before it went to voice mail, Dean answered.

“Yeah.” He sounded out of breath.

“Oh thank God, you’re alive!” She exclaimed into the night.

“Barely, but yeah, I’ll live,” Dean said on the other end.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, hold on, please don’t die before I get there, ok?” She rattled off breathlessly then hung up before he had a chance to reply.

Law enforcement be damned, she left the grave open, flames merrily crackling away while she ran back across the cemetery. Without bothering with the trunk, she threw the duffel in the backseat on top of the box and tore out of the parking lot faster than was probably safe.

She found Dean sitting on the front porch of the house, his t-shirt in rags, his pants held up by the belt alone. Her eyebrows flew up in surprise at his appearance.

“Uh...what actually happened while I was gone?” She looked him over but could see no apparent injuries except for some bruising on his wrists.

“Oh, well, Sarah and I had a lovely conversation and I found out exactly how she died,” Dean replied with enough sarcasm to fuel a small country for a year.

“O-oh.” Allaidh took a step back warily. “Care to share?”

“Yeah, I’ll tell you everything, but later. Let’s just get outta here,” Dean sighed, his eyes looking haunted and tired.

He levered himself to his feet and limped to the car, getting in the driver’s seat. Allaidh slid into the passenger seat and they rode in silence to the motel. She had a feeling this was going to be an interesting story.


End file.
